The Night Before
by Minerva Solo
Summary: When Yohji is injured and his secret lover comes calling, Ken finds himself taking up the offer of a free meal. When he finds out who he's eating with, however, he is less than pleased.


The Night Before 

Disclaimers: Ken, Schuldig and co belong to Project Weiss and anyone else involved. Not me, basically. I'm making no money from this fic.

Warnings: Fluff, sap, occasional swearing, lots of poor footy references because I'm not actually a fan.

A/N: I've been fluff deprived, ever since I began OUAN. It's taken me this long to write anything fluffy, and it's not even particularly so. It won't make you go 'aw' or anything, but it's light. And since I haven't written anything for this pairing before, I figured 'why not!' And you poor poor people have to suffer… 

So this was what they meant by 'the morning after the night before'. The sentence implied something particular happening that day, but this morning alone was more than Ken felt able to deal with. 

Ken grumbled under his breath and rubbed his eyes. Great. Hangover. But not too bad, which in some ways was even worse. He'd been tipsy last night, but not drunk enough to excuse _this_.

He stared at the figure sprawled across the other side of the bed. The other side being the top of the bed, since he'd been forced onto the floor by the reckless sleeper. A reckless sleeper that should never have been there. A sleeper that represented the betrayal of a friend and of Kritiker.

So this was the morning after, and the night before had been, well, an experience, to say the least.

Ken looked up from tending Yohji's wounds to frown at the window. Once could have just been his imagination, but twice? It sounded like several trees tapping against the window at once, but Ken was damn certain there weren't any trees around the Koneko. He sighed and finished applying the bandages to a large wound in Yohji's chest before going to the window and opening it.

A handful of gravel hit him in the face.

There was a pause.

"You're not Kudoh," a male voice said uncertainly. "Tell him I want to talk to him."

"And who exactly are you?" Ken asked irritably.

"His date," the voice said, a hint of amusement gracing the vaguely nasal tones.

Ken stared into the darkness. Male. Date. Kudoh Yohji. Kudoh Yohji date male.  Against his better judgement, Ken leaned further out of the window to get a better look. 

Damn, the guy had his hood up. As water ran down the back of his neck, Ken could perhaps forgive the stranger this. Blue eyes met blue eyes in the darkness. [1]

"He's not coming, is he?" the guy sighed. "Dammit!"

"He fell down the stairs," Ken winced at his own lie. He could do better than that! But it was too late now. "Very bad fall," he concluded lamely. "He may not be around for several days."

"You sure he didn't throw himself down?" the voice asked cynically. "He really, really didn't want to see me tonight."

"-" Ken was about to ask why not, but he got the impression that it would be a long answer, and the rain wasn't getting any drier. "Look, if you tell me who you are I'll get him to call you when he can. Okay? I'll force him to."

"Nah," the guy sighed. "I booked a restaurant, you know. Never even thought of doing that for someone before. He said a while ago he wanted to talk, but every time I brought it up he kept putting it off. He hasn't even told you guys he likes men, has he?" he added bitterly.

"No," Ken admitted. Whoever it was down there, Ken found himself feeling very sorry for the guy. When Yohji came to he was going to give him a piece of his mind. Of course, Yohji would make some smart arsed comment about whether ken could afford to give any away, since there wasn't much to begin with.

The guy snorted, amused by something Ken hadn't seen, or heard. "Look," he called up after a moment's contemplation, "I've got this table booked and all, for two. Don't suppose you feel like a free meal?"

"But… you're Yohji boyfriend," Ken stammered. "I can't just… he's my friend, I can't…"

'Friends don't keep their sexuality a secret,' Ken thought abruptly. He frowned. That didn't feel like something he would think, especially not out of the blue like that.  Why did he… Well, it wasn't as though Ken himself was completely in the clear there. But then, if he did have a boyfriend, he'd tell them. Yohji hadn't. There was a difference there. 

Ken heard the door clunk shut, and he stared around himself. He had changed into smarter clothes, navy blue slacks and a light blue polo neck, and he was standing outside of the Koneko with an umbrella in his hand, staring across the alley at Yohji's secret lover. He couldn't remember a damn thing about how he got there. He reached up to see if he'd left his goggles on, and his hair was warm and damp. He'd showered, too.

And then he saw the guy. He still had his coat on, hood up, but blue eyes gleamed in the light polluted haze, and lower shadows twisted into a smirk. He stepped forwards, and a band of light crossed his face, white in the shadows, a bandit inversed.

"Kudoh told me about you," the man said pleasantly. "Hidaka Ken, isn't it?"

Ken nodded mutely.

"You used to play… soccer, didn't you? 'Soccer'. How American. Its name is football. I've never played, but I enjoy watching."

He was a foreigner. The accent was familiar, but Ken couldn't place it. He spoke Japanese too fluently. "Yes, so do I. I don't play any more, but I do coach."

"Tell me about that," the enigmatic stranger commanded, and without further prompting Ken began to talk about his favourite subject, not even noticing that he still didn't know Yohji's boyfriend's name.

* * *

Ken's jaw dropped, in the middle of his rant on how Ireland had been hard done by in the World Cup. [2]  "I can't afford this place," he swallowed. Not on his supposed income in the florists, not even on his income as an assassin. It was a western style restaurant with a glass ceiling that gave a panoramic view of Tokyo. The waiters made more than he did.

"That's why I'm paying," the man smiled.

In the lighted foyer of the restaurant, Ken could see his new 'friend' a little better. Suspicion curdled in the pit of his stomach. As they began to make their way into the restaurant and the man slipped out of his coat and handed it to a waiter, Ken froze.

"Come on," Schuldig smirked. "Don't cause a scene, _Siberian_."

Ken fumed, but Schuldig was right, he couldn't do anything, couldn't 'cause a scene'. So he followed his mortal enemy to their table, and started studying the aperitifs angrily. Schuldig smirked at him over the table.

"How do you feel about this little revelation, Hidaka? Kudoh and I are shagging like bunnies, when we're not trying to kill each other."

"You know, we both have to leave sooner or later." Ken raised an eyebrow. "As soon as there's no one around, I'm going to gut you."

Schuldig chuckled. "Ja, with your fingernails? Besides, how would Kudoh feel if you killed his boyfriend?"

"He never told us he had a boyfriend, you're our mortal enemy, and I'm perfectly within my rights-" he was interrupted by the arrival of the waiter.

Schuldig gestured at Ken, and the waiter turned to him expectantly. He glowered at his partner for the evening. Schuldig could have ordered the waiters to poison whatever he ordered. Ken had no idea how many people might be involved in this plot, but Schwarz had employed far stranger ones. Ken felt sick. It sounded justifiable in his head, but it still felt wrong. It didn't fit together quite right. Yohji had to have known something. He wouldn't fall for a plot like this. Well, Ken had, but his instincts were still insisting that he take this at face value.

"I'll have whatever he's having," he mumbled. If they had the same, it would be much harder to tell which was poisoning, and so Schuldig was much less likely to take the risk. Presuming it as a plot.

"We'll have…" Schuldig pointed to something on the wine list, and then scanned the menu quickly for starters. "The asparagus to start. Is that okay you?" he raised an eyebrow at Ken, mocking, in Ken's opinion.

"Just fine," Ken growled out. "I'm having whatever you're having." 

"And the oysters as a main course. Ken?"

"I'll have whatever you're having," Ken insisted again. He wished the napkin was paper, so he could shred it, but this was an expensive restaurant and it was a nice linen blend. Aphrodisiacs. Schuldig had ordered oysters and asparagus, both of them, rumoured at least to have aphrodisiac properties. Was he trying to make a point? Or was he trying to do something even more sinister?

Ken glowered at the tablecloth. How had this happened?

"You liked me when you didn't know who I was," Schuldig said softly, in a completely different tone from the sneering Ken associated with the German. "It's like being fussy about food. You give someone, I dunno, black pudding, and they love it, but they you tell them what's in it and suddenly they change their mind and actually it was disgusting." [3]

"Black pudding never tried to kill me," Ken growled. He had meant it seriously, but suddenly it all seemed too ludicrous. He desperately tried to keep a straight face, but then Schuldig started to crack too.

They were still laughing when their starters arrived. The levity ceased. Ken stared at the limp green stems that graced both his and Schuldig's plate, and a small pot of butter and herbs in the centre of the table. Schuldig dipped one of the vegetables in the butter and sucked and nibbled at the end of it thoughtfully, never taking his eyes off of Ken. He even deep throated it, and Ken rolled his eyes. Schuldig almost choked.

As they ate, Ken fell back into melancholy contemplation. "Yohji," he sighed.

"What about him?" Schuldig growled. "Fucking bastard standing me up!"

"He's injured. Unconscious," Ken objected, defending his friend. Then he remember what his friend had one. "I want to know what possessed him to date you in the first place!" His natural hot temper flared again.

Schuldig opened his mouth but closed it again, uncharacteristically quiet. Ken's anger began to slip away a little. 

"Why did you want to talk to him?" Ken asked as the waiter took their starters away.

Schuldig sighed ad tipped back on his chair. "Why did he want to talk to me?" he asked rhetorically. "Why were we 'dating' in the first place?"

"When did it start?" Ken asked nervously, trying to find some way of making sense of his friend's behaviour.

"You mean 'were we already mortal enemies'? Yes, Hidaka, we were. I wouldn't have bothered with him otherwise. But the chance to mess with a member of Weiss; I couldn't pass it over. I couldn't leave Tsukiyono alone, and I couldn't leave Kudoh with his pain." As Schuldig spoke, Ken could hear his own suspicions being confirmed, right down to the letter.

He frowned. "Are you just saying what you think I want to hear?" Ken challenged.

"No," Schuldig muttered sulkily. Ken relaxed. "It's what I _know_ you want to hear," Schuldig added.

"So what happened? Did you seduce him during a confrontation, or infiltrate his dreams, or do you just happen to frequent the same bars?" Ken asked scathingly.

Schuldig laughed, dry and mirthless. "Can the sarcasm," he smirked, "the last one's _right_. Found him in a bar, completely rat-arsed. That whole Asuka debacle. You probably know more than I do. I may be a mind reader, but what was going through his head made less sense than Farf."

"He was pretty torn up about it," Ken allowed. 

"If you want a blow by blow account of that night," Schuldig sighed as their main course arrived, "I'll give you one, but they might just chuck us out."

Ken looked disgusted. "You took advantage of him," he accused. Schuldig shrugged and grabbed an oyster.

"You know I'm a bastard," he pointed out.

Ken sighed. "That was a while ago. We haven't seen you since the whole summoning thing."

Schuldig grinned. "Only you could call it a 'thing', Hidaka Ken." Ken was about to retort when he realised Schuldig wasn't smirking. It wasn't a snide comment, just an observation. "So I kept turning up, and eventually Kudoh excepted me. He _needed_ me. I don't know what I am to him: the rebound guy, an exercise in masochism, self-punishment… I know what I'm not. I'm not a person, not in his eyes." Ken swallowed an oyster, not taking his eyes from Schuldig. "I mean, do you have any fucking idea how long this has been going on? Of course not, he never told you. He never told anyone. Won't even admit he's attracted to men. It's some kind game I'm playing, forcing this upon him, screwing with him so he'll screw me. I hate him you know that? I fucking hate him!"

Ken knew that kind of hate. It wasn't the hate he felt for Schuldig or the rest of Schwartz, it wasn't the hate he felt for the guys he killed each night, it wasn't the hate he felt for the men who had torched the building he stood in. It was the hate for the man who had taken him to that building, the hatred born of love.

"Kase," Ken murmured. "You hate Yohji like I hate Kase."

"Because he's a bastard, and he's hurt you, and because you can't stop loving him no matter how bad the pain gets," Schuldig agreed. "I'm a bastard. I hurt people, I play with minds, and I kill people. How the fuck did this happen to me? You're a nice guy. You deserved better than a prick like Kase, but…"

"But I deserve love, and you don't?" Ken shook his head. "We're both murderers. Neither of us deserves anyone."

Schuldig didn't disagree.

They ate in relative silence, until the food was gone. Neither tasted much of anything, lost in their own pain. The waiter came and took it away, but neither man saw him. The staff were taking bets on whether the 'cute gay couple' were trying to put an argument behind them or were waiting for one to hit them.

"I just wanted to talk," Schuldig said abruptly. "I wasn't going to put any pressure on him. He doesn't want to talk to me, it means I'm a person and suddenly it's all much less black and white."

"He never struck me as a black-and-white person," Ken said. "Too cynical."

Schuldig shrugged. "He's not as bad as the rest of you, I'll give him that, but he's still drawn this line that separates 'us' from 'them'. It's the line that means both 'us' and 'them' can commit the same crimes, but 'we' are the good guys' and 'they' are the bad guys."

Ken looked blank.

"Never mind," Schuldig smirked. "Just put it this way: he doesn't want to acknowledge that what hurts him can hurt me too."

"It all sounds too complicated," Ken said honestly. "Why don't you just find someone else? Someone simpler, and without, you know, a history of trying to kill you."

"Because, well, who else is there? Ask yourself, could you have gone to Australia with that girl? No, because she's too damn detached. She's never watched the life drain from a body as she held it, never listened to the dying man beg and plead, even though there's nothing you can do now, never killed. People like you and I, Hidaka, need people like us. We can't be around Joe Normal."

Ken sighed. "Too much blood on our hands. I _know,_ Schuldig, you don't have to tell me. It's just, well, there are plenty of assassins and thieves out there. Why Yohji?"

"You thought 'murderers'," Schuldig told him. "You thought 'murderers' but you said 'assassins'."

The waiter reappeared before Ken could splutter an excuse. Schuldig ordered coffee, and looked expectantly across the table, waiting for Ken to say, "I'll have what he's having."

"Will sir be having the same?" the waiter asked, contempt curling his lip, making the same assumption as Schuldig.

"No," Ken said shortly. "Sir will be having the triple layer chocolate cake with fudge sauce, thank you for asking."

Schuldig laughed as the waiter walked away, stiff backed. "Good for you!" he grinned. "So, have you given up on the idea that this is all some cunning ploy to poison you?"

Ken grimaced. "Sweet tooth," he admitted. "And I can't stand coffee, so I wouldn't have touched it anyway. Besides, you're paying for all this, and it was the most expensive dessert."

"And people say I'm a bastard," Schuldig shook his head. "Where do you want to go after this?"

"I only came here because I thought Yohji had a hot boyfriend with money to burn," Ken pointed out. 

"And so he does," Schuldig smirked.

"And so he does," Ken chuckled in defeat. "I felt sorry for you. Standing out there in the rain, stood up by a severely wounded Yohji, unheard of by the rest of us…"

"Stop it," Schuldig frowned. "You're making me feel sorry for myself. I'll go out and spend the rest of the evening getting pissed and bemoaning my fate."

"What fate?" Ken leant back on his chair. "Neither of us is likely to see thirty."

"That _is_ a fate, just an unpleasant one," Schuldig insisted. "Face it, we're both destined to live miserable lives, suffer in every relationship we attempt, drown in guilt and die young. At least I get a nice red car."

Ken tried to laugh, but found it difficult. He finished off the last of the wine with a melancholy sigh. "You're taking me drinking," he told Schuldig. "You make me all depressed, you buy me beer and drag me out of any bar fights I get into."

"Me? I got _you_ depressed? Oh give me a brake. You sit there, all 'I felt so sorry for you' blah-de-blah and make me all depressed, and now you're whining? You don't know what pain is!" Schuldig spluttered.

"I don't know what pain is? I killed my best friend!" Ken almost shouted.

An abrupt silence fell over the restaurant. Ken blushed beetroot and sank down in his seat. The waiter, who had chosen that precise moment to approach the table with coffee and cake, had gone pale with horror and dropped the tray.

"Yeeow!" Schuldig screamed as scalding coffee splashed across his lap.

"Figuratively speaking," Ken reassured the other diners. "I didn't actually kill him!"

"Hey!" Schuldig grabbed him. "I said 'ow'!" The waiter had paled and started trying to mop up the coffee in Schuldig's lap with a sodden tea towel. Schuldig grabbed it and whipped the unfortunate man across the face. "Hidaka, go and find our coats!" he fumed. "We're leaving."

"But…" Ken gazed soulfully at his cake, upside down in the flower arrangement. He blinked; it was a Koneko arrangement. One of Omi's, by the looks of it. This revelation distracted him long enough for Schuldig to drag him out of the restaurant. Ken managed to swipe a bit of cake off the table as they passed, and as they strode through Tokyo he licked icing off his fingers.

"And that's how you get away without paying," Schuldig grinned.

"You fiend!" Ken laughed. "You planned that from the beginning!"

"Oh yeah," Schuldig smirked, oozing smug superiority. Then he flinched; his trousers were also oozing something else entirely. "We have to go somewhere. I need new trousers. These are very, very wet and very, very hot and the coffee was spilt on a very, very personal area."

"We're near the Koneko. No doubt you know all the back ways in by now," Ken sighed, unhappily reminded not only of who Schuldig was, but also of his relationship with Ken's best friend. Sometimes a whole minute would go by in which he'd forget, and just enjoy the German's company for what it was.

"Don't get morose now," Schuldig groaned, "not while every step brings me closer to being sterile."

They managed to get into Ken's apartment via the fire escape, though they had a close shave when Omi stuck his head out of the window after Schuldig's coat caught the latch and yanked it open. Ken had stood there and made some excuses about going out drinking, deliberately slurring and smiling like an idiot. Omi just sighed and shook his head.

 Schuldig wiggled out of his trousers as fast as he could, and Ken chucked a cold damp flannel at him while he studied the stain. He had four different detergents that would get blood out, but coffee still tended to stick around. Still, he continued to glower at it, holding the trousers at eye level.

"You wouldn't be avoiding looking at me, would you?" Schuldig sang out. Ken lowered the trousers slightly to glower at the red head lounging coyly on his bed.

"Normal people wear underwear," Ken growled. "And if caught without they at least have the decency to cover themselves up." He lowered the trousers a bit more, eyes widening. "Are you using my flannel to masturbate?" he shrieked.

Schuldig grinned unashamedly. "What? I'm horny. You're hot."

The part of Ken that was a bit drunk and very single fought the part that was very embarrassed and extremely angry, and managed to draw a stalemate long enough for Ken's eyes to linger on Schuldig's impressive body. He was still wearing his shirt and coat, but below the waist everything was just as nature intended. 

"That's _my_ flannel," Ken stammered, unable to think of what else to stay. "You can't do that with my flannel. I use that to wash. It's _my_ flannel."

"So come over here and take it back," Schuldig purred. Ken set out to do just that, but some how hands ended up in places where the flannel had been, but the flannel was gone and other hands were putting it in different places and so many hands and so many places…

Ken poked Schuldig in the ribs. The German groaned and rolled over. Ken poked him again.

"Wh'?"

"I have work in, oh, half an hour. You might want to leave before anyone else gets up."

"Nein," Schuldig mumbled, pulling the covers over his head.

"You can't stay here all day," Ken frowned. "What if someone finds you?"

"N'one ever found me in Yohji's room," Schuldig muttered.

"No one can find anything in there," Ken rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised you can see the bed for the bottles." Ken stared at the clock. He had a shift with Omi that morning, though it should have been Yohji. While his best friend lay unconscious in bed with a gash torn out of his chest, Ken had slept with his lover. Even if Schwarz were no longer a threat, even if Kritiker were absolutely fine with his choice of lover, he had betrayed his friend.

Schuldig sighed and sat up. "Trust me, he won't care," he reassured Ken. "He'll be more worried than I'm trying to hurt you."

"It's the principle of the thing," Ken sighed.

"No, it's not. If he'd thought he could, he would have dumped me. He's so screwed up right now, Ken. He refuses to believe he has, or ever did have, any choice in the matter." Schuldig stared at him earnestly. "There is a choice. You understand, don't you, that you have a choice?"

"Yes," Ken nodded. "But what _you_ mean is 'do I want this to continue?'"

"Like you said last night, I ought to be with someone simpler. Kudoh doesn't know whether he's coming or going, and won't for a long time yet. He has no idea whether he wants me or not, and in what manner, and at what cost." 

"Schuldig, I can't do this," Ken sighed. Schuldig's face fell. "Not to him," Ken continued obliviously. "If you end it with him, convince him it really is over and it's not another part of some twisted mind game you're playing, then I can make a choice."

"I can do that," Schuldig murmured.

Ken grinned. "You do that, then. Now, if you like, but I can't promise he won't kill you merely for waking him. Actually, now might even be a good time, since he can hardly move. You'll be able to run."

"Do you think I should mention last night?" Schuldig asked, clambering to his feet. His trousers were still lying in the middle of Ken's floor, still stained with coffee.

"Up to you," Ken shrugged. "Look, I can't promise anything. We have one hell of a history. This could be just another game, I don't know. But… I believe you when you say he hurt you. I don't want to believe that of my best friend, but I'm worried about him at the moment and everything you've said: it fits. You haven't tried to kill me, yet, so that counts in your favour too. Oh, and you mentioned you taped the World Cup final."

Schuldig smirked. "I will make you _beg_," he promised throatily. Ken glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before his shift started. Schuldig raised an eyebrow. Ken began to move back towards the futon. He couldn't blame it on the alcohol this time, and he found he didn't want to.

"They think it's all over, it is now." [4]

R&R? I have an urge to write a sequel, but I don't have any inkling of a plot (I just want to call it 'The Morning After'). If you can suggest something in the way of plot further than 'Schu confronts Yohji, something happens to Ken', which is all I've got at the moment, I'll write it. Otherwise this is a oneshot. 

[1] Both have blue eyes in the anime. Look closely, and ignore some of the screen shots, which will try and convince you they both have green, yellow, brown or pretty much any other colour

[2] The World Cup was a long time ago. All I remember is England got no further than normal (i.e. not very far at all), a small country shocked everyone by doing well without spending the billions all the Western countries did, Germany and Brazil both reached the final (but I can't remember which won!), and something happened to Ireland. They had a huge party when the players got home, and I think it may have ended on penalties. Someone playing against Spain was hard done by too… It was over a year ago, and the only time I've ever watched football. So that's pretty much a list of every football reference I'm going to make in this fic, and any other.

[3] Oats, some other stuff, blood, basically. It really is very nice. Don't know why Schuldig knows what it is, since it's mostly a Northern English dish (part of a Full English Breakfast, if it's being cooked traditionally). We'll assume Ken has no idea what Schuldig is on about, though, and says what he says anyway.

[4] The most famous line in English football. I think, I am in no way certain, but I think it's when we won the World Cup. Or we beat Germany. Maybe both, maybe neither. I just know it made one commentator very famous and no doubt very rich. No, I don't know which commentator. For that matter,  I don't even know which character is saying it, but I felt it fitted. And now I'm humming 'The Great Escape'. We have the oddest footy traditions here…


End file.
